


Fhirdiad, 1181

by flamesgrace



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (I hope), Canon Compliant, Gen, Hallucinations, Imprisonment, Trauma, spoilers for blue lions route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamesgrace/pseuds/flamesgrace
Summary: His Highness awaits his execution.





	Fhirdiad, 1181

During all the years he'd spent in Fhirdiad, he had never once stepped foot inside its dungeons. He had never seen where the Kingdom's enemies spent their time in dark solitude, either as their punishment or as a mere step on their journey to the cruel justice of the headsman's axe. Dark stains marred the cold stone floor; trails spread unevenly about the cell, one bloody arm reaching towards the bars with spindly fingers, another towards the wall where red flecks merged with white scratches. Red and white. Her colours. 

He sank his fist into the wall, barely registering the stab of pain as the stone crumbled around his hand. The guard stationed outside his cell turned to look at him warily through the small barred window but said nothing. Any communication had ceased after his first escape attempt when he strangled the guard with one bare hand through the bars. He should've anticipated that the loud thunk of the body falling to the floor would summon more soldiers to subdue him. They had left him free to roam the small room with no restraints, perhaps out of fear that he would break free of any chains and use them as weapons to make his escape. He would rip them from the wall and use them to secure the guard's corpse to the door, avoiding his previous mistake. Even though he would still attract attention as he broke down the door, a few seconds head-start would be all he needed. But this was his home, and they knew him far too well to take such risks a second time. He was entirely alone in his cell. Only the screams of fellow prisoners and the voices in his head kept him company. The passage of time no longer held any meaning for him, and he had no way of knowing whether he had been imprisoned for days or weeks. Even sleep had failed to grant him its momentary relief.

The last thing he remembered before the cell was that woman Cornelia sneering down at him from behind her guards before they'd finally subdued him. He remembered her as a kind woman, a steadfast friend and confidant of his stepmother, who had brought life and hope back to Faerghus when it had almost fallen to disease. Perhaps he should have known that Edelgard would sink her merciless claws into the minds of anyone who would spare her but a moment of their time. How far had her corruption spread? It had infected his fellow students, the entire Adrestian Empire, even Faerghus itself. She would not rest until she had subjugated the whole of Fodlan, brought the weak and vulnerable to heel, and repeated her actions at Duscur ten times over. If she would paint Fodlan red, he would see every part of her match it as she finally felt the agony of her victims. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet but definitive thump against the door, followed by the unmistakably metallic jingle of keys. He slowly rose to his feet as the door swung open, revealing a man he'd never thought to behold again. He could only murmur his name in shock. The face of his old friend was covered in blood and bruises, dark red staining his white hair. 

Dedue made his way into the room with a wary, almost scared look. "Your Highness!" he said, eyes roving over Dimitri's battered form with alarm. His face hardened. "They hurt you."

Dimitri slowly rose to his feet. "It doesn't matter. Dedue, how-" 

"Later, Your Highness. We do not have long until they find us." He reached out his hand for a moment, but seemed to think better of it and clenched it in a fist at his side instead. "Can you walk?" 

Dimitri took a tentative step forward. "I believe so. But I would crawl out of this place on my hands and knees if I needed to."

His friend paused at that, a look of resignation passing across his face. "I know." he said, turning towards the door and the unconscious guard lying there. "This distraction will not last long; we must hurry."

Dimitri followed him out of the door, ignoring the way his body cried out in protest. "What dist-" His words were cut short by a piercing scream that echoed through the castle halls. Dedue's eyes widened with what looked like horrified recognition. 

Dimitri quickly shoved his way past him, uncaring of the body of the unconscious guard. He felt rather than heard Dedue follow him, and addressed him without looking back. "Dedue, don't tell me you-" 

"They are not under my command. We knew what we were doing."

Dimitri came to a halt as he reached the corpse of a man he didn't recognise, his dead, bloodied hand still holding a simple lance. "Do you?" 

He slowly pried the shaft of the lance from the man's hand, willing himself not to react as bone cracked under his fingers and ignoring the way the hand was left at an unnatural angle when he finally tugged the weapon free. He weighed it in his hands for a moment. It was sturdy and well-maintained, but not the standard-issue lance he knew the guards used. He checked the man's face and immediately found himself unable to tear his eyes away. The left side of the face was almost unrecognisable. The skin was a patchwork of red, black and a sickly yellow, spreading like a disease across the face, seeping into the open, vacant eyes. 

Dedue quickly knelt and closed the man's eyes with gentle hands, closing his own for a moment before standing once more. "He would have wanted you to arm yourself," he said, not meeting Dimitri's gaze. 

Dimitri tightened his grip on the lance but said nothing, still staring at the lifeless face of what was presumably one of Dedue's comrades. If the man had wanted him to arm himself, he would gladly oblige. The head of the lance was already coated in blood, and he would ensure that it would end the day dripping with it. 

They ran as quietly as they could through the castle's dark corridors, past wide-open cells both occupied and not, the unmistakable sound of clashing weapons as constant accompaniment. He dearly wished to join the fray and rip apart those traitors who dared align themselves with that woman, to make them feel the pain of all those who had cracked under her merciless heel. Only the guiding presence of his old friend stopped him from taking his acquired lance to the nearest traitor's throat. The cries of pain grew louder as they pressed on, and they were finally stopped short when an arrow firmly lodged itself in Dimitri's shoulder. He bit his lip firmly to stop himself from crying out as Dedue ran past him, axe bared, swinging the weapon at the bowman's legs and swiftly ending his life with a slash to the neck. He turned just in time to see Dimitri tug the arrow out of himself, further staining his tunic red. Dedue strode back towards him and placed his gauntlet-clad hand over the wound. 

Dimitri sighed, though he was all too aware that it sounded more like a wince. "Dedue, you said yourself that we don't have much time. We can't afford to stall over such minor injuries."

Dedue gave him a rare irritated look. "Your Highness, I hardly think this is minor." He looked around, his eyes falling on the bowman's corpse. "This will not take a moment." 

Dimitri watched as his friend effortlessly tore a strip from the bottom of the man's tunic and quickly made his way back over. He inclined his head at Dimitri's bloody shoulder. "If you would, Your Highness-" 

Dimitri complied, raising his arm so Dedue could carefully wrap the torn tunic around the wound, his face drawn. It couldn't have been a long time since they last saw each other, yet Dedue looked years older already. His face was thinner and his eyes tired, as if he was the one who had been imprisoned. Perhaps he had been. 

They started down the corridor once more, taking care to listen out for any other potential ambushes. The cries of pain never ceased, and Dimitri could tell by the tenseness in his friend's shoulders that not all of them belonged to the guardsmen. 

"How many men did you bring here?" 

Dedue met his eyes over his shoulder warily before facing away again. "Enough to save you."

"And how many more do you think will die?" 

"We all knew the risks."

"I am not worth such a sacrifice, my friend."

"Do not say that. You would do this and more for any of your people, no matter who they were!" Dedue spoke quietly, but with all the passion of a man who was shouting, and Dimitri didn't need to see his face to know he was angry. Perhaps he deserved to stay in that cell and await his execution, his just punishment for allowing that woman to escape his grasp. However, this way, he could live, live and fulfil his purpose as the arbiter of his family's long-awaited vengeance, and destroy those who would threaten the weak by becoming exactly what he hated. Then and only then could he die in peace. Even so, he felt his resolve falter as Dedue turned back to look at him again, nodding as he saw that the injury was not slowing him down. If he let himself do what he must, he was not certain that Dedue would remain by his side. He dearly wanted to believe that he would but knew that he could not fault a good man if he had no loyalty to a monster. 

The further into the castle they went, the more bodies littered the floor, many of them so covered in blood that their allegiance was impossible to determine by their uniform. Eventually, they reached a fork in their path, one leading upwards into the castle proper via a spiral staircase and the other leading further into the dungeon. Dedue stared down the corridor where the din of battle was unmistakably coming from, his hand clenching around his axe. 

Dimitri slowly rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go. Aid them; I can make it from here."

Dedue turned to look at him in horror. "Never. I am not leaving you; we must press on."

"Must I order you?!" 

Dedue said nothing in response but instead closed his eyes with an indiscernible expression. 

Dimitri sighed. "My friend, I know you wish to aid them. Outside this dungeon, I know this castle far too well to run into any true danger." He paused for a moment, drawing a map of the castle in his mind. "The southern ramparts. It's the most lightly defended part of the walls, and neither of us should have any problem getting there, especially after I've carved us a path."

Dedue looked at him silently, staring into his eyes as if he could read every one of Dimitri's thoughts in them. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. The southern ramparts."

"Swear to me you'll meet me there, Dedue. Please."

His friend placed a hand on his chest in a salute. "On my honour, Your Highness. I swear."

With one final glance of acknowledgement they parted, Dedue down the dungeon corridor and Dimitri up the spiral staircase. Guilt stabbed through him as he ascended, rising like bile up his throat. He did intend to meet Dedue at the ramparts, but not before he'd had the chance to tear that woman Cornelia's head from her shoulders. His friend did not deserve to bear witness to his liege stepping further into monstrosity, no matter how guilty his victims were. If he killed Edelgard's puppet, perhaps escape would even be unnecessary. 

His ascent was halted by the appearance of another guard, whose eyes widened in recognition.

"Prince Dimitri?" The man shakily drew his blade, the weakness of his resolve written plain across his face. 

Dimitri knew the man was innocent. The people of Fhirdiad could not possibly hope to resist the might of the dread Emperor and her puppets, nor could they ignore a direct order from their regent. But ultimately that was irrelevant. 

Dimitri knew his position put him at a disadvantage. He knew all too well the dangers of being on the lower step, the dangers of using a polearm in such a confined space. But a slight shift of position is all it would take. He didn't even need a weapon. He grasped the man's exposed jaw and lifted him clean off the ground, unceremoniously throwing him down the spiral staircase to his death. He didn't even have time to scream before his neck broke. Dimitri stared down at what he could see of the man's corpse with both horror and satisfaction, unable to tear the guard's look of pure fear from his mind. He would see such a look on dear El's face before he choked the life from her. 

After lingering longer than he should've, he continued up the stairs until he reached a familiar, dimly lit corridor. Stealing food from the kitchens on this floor for his escape may have been sensible, even advisable, but his feet carried him past the doors and to the next set of stairs. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder as he wound upwards once more, as fast as he could without falling. No guards barred his way this time, and he did not care to wonder why as he reached the next floor, the floor of the throne room. It seemed the most likely place for Cornelia to be, either holding court or, if she'd been alerted to Dedue's break-in, issuing orders to her men. 

Dimitri's clear path to her was ended as he neared the room, a group of what looked like eight fully-armed soldiers making their way in the opposite direction. Before they could spot him, he threw his lance at the neck of the nearest man with all the strength he could muster. The man's scream was cut off as the lance's head pierced his throat. Dimitri wasted no time as he ran to tug his weapon from the corpse and promptly thrust it into the face of the next soldier, killing him instantly as he kicked out at another man advancing behind him. The third soldier's armoured head hit the wall with a dull crack and Dimitri did not stop to check if he was dead before he turned to face the remaining five, who looked at him in horror. He wondered if they recognised the face of their would-be king, painted red by their comrades' blood. Perhaps she'd sunk her claws into him, too. He took advantage of their hesitation to swipe a dead man's sword from the ground, his lance still buried in a face now unrecognisable as human. He immediately plunged the blade into a gap in the nearest soldier's armour just as pain roared in his injured shoulder, slicing it clean open. Unable to keep a hold on his sword, he nearly followed his most recent victim to the ground, the presence of the advancing men the only thing keeping him upright. He almost howled in agony as he straightened his arms and grasped the neck of a soldier in each hand, feeling the marks of their chainmail, branding his palms as he squeezed. The remaining two men had frozen in place, watching silently as their prince killed those of his own country, and stayed motionless as the bodies fell to the ground with a jarring thud that echoed down the corridor. Dimitri knew he couldn't afford to waste any more time if he wanted to eliminate Cornelia before reinforcements arrived.

"Where is Lady Cornelia?" he asked, the title burning in his mouth. He'd expected the men to answer, but they merely raised their weapons. Not for the first time, Dimitri wondered how many of them believed that he'd murdered his uncle in a fit of rage, though he had to admit that the tale certainly seemed plausible, thinking of the gruesome, monstrous figure he must paint before them. Nevertheless, an obstacle was an obstacle, no matter their intentions. He noticed the two soldiers were of a height as he picked up a sword once more and mustered all his strength to separate their heads from their shoulders with a single slice. A smile spread across his face as they fell in tandem.

Blood marked his steps as he finally approached the throne room, his red hands shaking with anticipation as he raised them to the double doors and pushed them open. That witch Cornelia stood in the centre of the room, voice echoing with rage as she addressed her men. 

"I don't care what it takes, find Prince Dimitri before he and his accomplices escape!" she screamed. "And when you find him, bring him-" Her words were cut short as she turned to see what her soldiers were distracted by. "Ah! Or our dear princeling can save us the trouble! How considerate." All the warmth that used to cling to her words was gone, leaving only cold, snake-like charm. Dimitri braced himself for the soldiers to deliver an onslaught that never came. Instead, he ran unimpeded towards Cornelia and could only watch as energy swirled around her fingertips before she sent him reeling backwards with what felt like fire. 

He landed on his back and was kept there by dark clouds pressing in on him from every direction, tearing through him with such a pain that fire alone could never cause. He could only open his eyes to a sliver, just enough to make out the profile of a woman above him, sharp hand outstretched. Blood trickled from her fingernails down her arms until she was entirely covered in red. Familiar, piercing eyes looked down at him with an expression too cold to be sympathetic as her mouth opened to reveal monstrous, jagged teeth, all dripping red. His chest began to clench in time with her hand, each breath coming shorter than the last, all while his vision somehow became clearer and clearer until he finally recognised the woman's face. 

Edelgard stared back at him in silence before clenching her hand into a fist. Dimitri screamed just as the pain was suddenly ripped away, and Edelgard- Cornelia- staggered to the ground clutching her side. Dimitri had no time to look around before he was bodily hauled to his feet and dragged from the room by strong arms. For once, he lacked the strength to resist. His suspicions as to his companion's identity were confirmed when he finally mustered the energy to look up. 

"Dedue-I-" 

His friend looked down at him with a gentleness he did not deserve. "If you intend to apologise, know that it is unnecessary." 

Dimitri couldn’t find the words to reply to that. They fought together through the castle's remaining guards on the way to their original meeting place, both in their path and tailing them, though Dimitri could see Dedue watching him warily out of the corner of his eye after every conflict. The worry was not unfounded - Dimitri felt drained in a way he could not describe, his mind wavering between reality and nightmare. It took longer than he expected for Cornelia to catch up with them once more, they were approaching the southern ramparts when they heard her cruel voice bark further orders at her soldiers. Dimitri and Dedue sped up and sprinted as best they could towards the nearest door, finding themselves at the castle ramparts at long last. Buildings surrounded the castle, potentially making it easier for them to make their escape straight over the castle walls, so long as they did not suffer severe injury from the fall. 

Any time for deliberation was stripped from them as the group from the throne room finally caught up, Cornelia among them, her bleeding side seemingly failing to impede her. The soldiers crowded around them, forcing their backs against the outer castle wall. 

Dedue turned to him with an expression Dimitri had never seen grace his features before. "Forgive me, Your Highness," he whispered. 

Dimitri had no time to answer before his dearest friend pushed him off the wall to safety. 

The screams that followed would remain etched in his mind for years.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse my overly imaginative depiction of dark magic. I like to think that it's different than typical black magic, and may affect Dimitri even worse than usual considering his mental state at this point. 
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you thought.


End file.
